CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR ELVAR

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ELVAR

E lvar woke with a gasp, some distant, screeching, ululating noise dragging her from her dreams, which were full of dragons and blood and ash, of a gallows-hanging, a faceless man clawing at the rope around his neck, of walking across a room, only to find that the ground was moving beneath her, seething with rats.

She sat up, realised that the noise was a horn blowing and she stumbled out of her bed. It was huge, as she slept in Ulfrir's old chamber.

Horns. Has the dragon come? A spike of fear in her gut, and also hope. Right now, the waiting was proving worse than the prospect of fighting. Although that opinion could change once the dragon was here.

"Morning, chief," Sólín Spittle said to her as she searched for her weapons belt. Sólín was standing in the shadowed alcove of Elvar's open doorway.

"What's happening? The horns," Elvar asked as she found her weapons belt and baldric slung across a chair, buckled the belt on over her coat of mail, which she had taken to sleeping in.

"More come to swear their oaths to you," Sólín said, looking at Elvar. "It's that one-note call on the horn," she added.

"Of course," Elvar breathed, remembering the different calls for different messages. She stood a moment and breathed, knuckled her eyes.

"Hard work, being chief, or jarl," Sólín said. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing a silver-browed job of it."

"That is worth a great deal, Sólín," Elvar said as she slipped her baldric over her head and one arm, let the weight of her scabbarded sword settle it in place. She found her bearskin cloak and threw it over her shoulder. There were two ways in and out of the chamber, a huge open archway that led into the great hall and a smaller door that opened into the tunnels that wormed through the bowels of the hill. "Let us see who calls upon us today, then."

She walked out through the archway towards the great hall and saw the mailed bulk of Thorguna waiting for her.

"Jarl Elvar," the Berserkir said as she fell in beside Sólín, and Elvar paused for a moment. She was standing upon a platform set about halfway up the wall of Wolfdale's main hall. She fought a rising sense of dizziness for a moment, as she did each morning, looking down from this height upon the hall beneath her, people moving on the chamber floor appearing small as ants. She could have had a chamber set along one of the many corridors that wound beneath the ground, but, as with Ulfrir's chair, she had felt that she needed to have his bedchamber, too, so that he did not start to become too used to being in the positions of power again. Not for the first time she was regretting that choice. She sucked in a deep breath and moved on, walking along a stairwell that was carved into a huge branch of the tree that grew within the chamber. Soon she reached the trunk, and the stairwell joined the walkway that spiralled around the trunk, winding steadily downwards.

The smells of food wafted up to her, slices of bacon frying on iron skillets, fresh-cooked bread from stone ovens, cheese and smoked fish and porridge bubbling in pots, and her stomach growled. She had not realised how hungry she felt. As she spiralled down the stairwell, she saw Silrie on the ground, talking with her brother, Broeir, and a handful of her petty jarls, Runa Red-Axe among them. Silrie looked up at Elvar as she walked down and marched towards her, joined Elvar as she reached the ground.

"Jarl Elvar," Silrie said, matching Elvar's pace and they walked past the new training court, the sounds of warriors sparring ringing out, the clack of blades, thud of shields slamming, grunting of warriors and the shuffle and scrape of footwork. She glimpsed some of the Bloodsworn there, and Jarl Orlyg's drengrs , too.

"Have you decided on the matter of Grend, my jarl?" Silrie said.

Elvar felt a wave of nausea at the mention of his name, knew that this conversation was coming. Bit back a snarl.

"No," she said, as calmly as she could.

"A decision should be made, and soon," Silrie said. "There are murmurs, among your jarls, among the mercenaries that have pledged to you."

"What murmurs?" Elvar said, although she already knew.

"That Grend has lied to you, deceived you for many years. That if you show … leniency to such as he, how can you be trusted to show strength against the dragon, against the war-host that is descending upon us. Your people need to see a strong hand, they need to know that you have the strength to lead them …"

"I have seen Oskutree, fought the Raven-Feeders, thralled the wolf-god, slain my father, what more strength do they need to see? And I have the silver and gold to pay them, so let them keep their mutterings and find someone with more gold and silver if they are not happy with how I rule."

"Gold is little comfort to the dead," Silrie said, "it is only useful if you are alive to spend it. They need to trust that you can bring them through this. We are at war."

"I have heard you," Elvar said.

"Grend should be dealt with before all so that—"

"Enough," Elvar snapped, and Silrie pursed her lips.

They passed around the trunk of the tree and the dais came into view, a knot of people standing before it. She glanced to the open stone doors and saw that the light was soft and grey with dawn.

She looked at the backs of the new arrivals, saw that some of them were drengrs , well-armed and in good mail, and there were also Tainted among them in iron collars, úlfhéenar by the way the sides of their heads were shaved and tattooed. There were two people standing at the head of them, a man and woman, Uspa standing with them in hushed conversation. The woman was fair-haired, and looked as if she had seen some hard travelling, her clothes mud-spattered and ragged, her braided hair frayed. She wore a sword at her hip. The man had a wooden staff in one hand, which set her heart beating a little faster.

A Galdurman.

She strode past them without giving them a backward glance, stepped up onto the dais, saw Ulfrir standing back in the shadows, unseen. She gave him a sharp nod and turned to face the newcomers, and blinked, because she recognised them, though she had not seen either of them for many years. Not since they had visited her father's court at Snakavik, in the company of Queen Helka of Darl before Elvar had fled and joined the Battle-Grim.

Estrid, Helka's daughter, and Skalk, Helka's Galdurman.

Skalk had changed much, one of his eyes a scarred, shadowed socket.

Two women stood close to Skalk, a fair-haired drengr and what looked like an apprentice Galdurwoman, bones tied in her dark, matted hair.

Uspa stepped forward.

"Estrid, Queen of Darl, and Skalk, Galdurman of Darl," she said, a twist of her lips as she said the Galdurman's name.

Queen of Darl! You are no queen; you have had your kingdom ripped from you.

"Well met, Estrid," Elvar said. "You are a long way from your home."

"Jarl Elvar," Estrid said, dipping her head. She straightened her shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. "My home is a ruin, destroyed by the dragon. My mother slain; my brother slain. I am hunted, pursued by vaesen, and yet I fight on. I hoped to find a friend in you, as I have heard that you mean to stand against Lik-Rifa and her horde of Tainted and vaesen. You are the enemy of my enemy, and so, I hope, my friend. I offer my sword, my drengrs and my Tainted, my friendship. I would fight at your side, and, I hope, build a new world with you once the dragon is dead."

That was well said, no matter that you are on your knees with only a handful of warriors at your command.

Elvar opened her mouth to answer her and then a figure strode before the dais, marching towards Estrid and Skalk. A hulking warrior, bald-headed, grey-bearded, clothed in mail, a black, blood-spattered shield across his back.

Glornir Shieldbreaker. Vol was a score of paces behind him, hurrying to catch him, and more of the Bloodsworn followed her.

"I told you I would see you again, Skalk of Darl," Glornir growled, making the hairs on Elvar's neck stand on end.

Skalk turned and saw Glornir descending upon him, took a step back, raising his staff, and the fair-haired drengr stepped forwards, between Skalk and Glornir, drawing her sword with a hiss. She did not have time to shrug the shield from her back, just set her feet and began to raise her sword.

Glornir did not break his stride, one hand snapping out and grabbing the wrist of the drengr 's sword arm. She grunted, tried to twist out of his grip and he slammed a fist into her jaw. She dropped like a brained ox and Glornir strode on.

"Raue reiei, brenna holdie af beinum hans," Skalk blurted, red runes crackling to light at the end of his Galdur-staff. Vol appeared alongside Glornir, shouting her own Seier-words, blue flames hissing into life around her hands. Glornir drew the sword at his hip, still not breaking stride, eyes fixed on Skalk.

"Ulfrir, stop this," Elvar called out.

Ulfrir stepped out of the shadows, his body already rippling, the air about him shimmering, and he collapsed onto all fours, bones cracking, muscle growing, fur sprouting. People on the dais scrambled away, Glornir, Skalk and all the others frozen, staring. Elvar walked calmly to one side of the dais as Ulfrir rose in his snarling wolf-glory. He stood towering over them all and padded forwards towards Glornir, Skalk and the others, saliva dripping from his teeth, letting out a low-rumbling growl that made the ground tremor. Elvar felt it rumble in her chest and rise into her body through her feet.

"Stop," Ulfrir said, and they stared up at him, shock and awe on their faces.

"So, it is true," Estrid said.

Elvar stepped forwards.

"What is this about?" she said to Glornir.

"Skalk stole my Seier-witch, slew one of my Bloodsworn," Glornir growled. "Vol," he said, beckoning to her. "He did this to her", and he gestured to the white scars that ringed Vol's mouth. "He stitched her lips shut, he beat her." A tremor ran through him. "No one steals from the Bloodsworn, no one mistreats one of my crew. No one slays one of us and walks away." Muscles twitched in his arms, his fists closing. "He will answer for it."

"No," Elvar said, shaking her head, though she understood all that Glornir had said, knew the code he lived by, remembered the red rage she had felt when Ingvild had stolen a chest of her treasure.

"This is my hall, my war-host," she said to Glornir and Skalk. "If there are grudges held between those who follow me, they must be put aside. Perhaps not forever, but at least until the dragon is slain. After that," she shrugged. "We will have to see."

Glornir looked from Elvar to Ulfrir to Skalk.

"Soon," he growled at the Galdurman, then stalked away.

"And that rule is for all," Elvar said. "We are a host of many, from different places, different countries." She looked to some of the Bloodsworn with their dark skins and lamellar armour, then to the tennúr that travelled with the Bloodsworn, and at Ulfrir, Skuld and Hrung. "Even different species. We will not fight among ourselves, that way lies defeat. We put our grievances and differences aside and win this war together." She gave a hard stare at all before her, her gaze coming to settle upon Skalk and Estrid.

"Estrid, you are welcome here with us, and you, too, Skalk, but I expect the same standards from you both." She looked at Skalk, who was glowering at Glornir's back. "I am talking to you, Galdurman," she growled. His eyes snapped to her, a brief flash of contempt flickering behind them, gone in a heartbeat, and he was smiling.

"Of course, Jarl Elvar," he said, dipping his head to her. She looked to Estrid.

"We are glad to be here," Estrid said firmly, "and will abide by whatever rules you wish."

"Good," Elvar said.

A squawking and flapping of wings and one of the giant ravens was flying through the wide-arched entrance to the hall, flying around the edge of the huge chamber and landing in a cloud of dust before Elvar. She glimpsed shocked expressions on Skalk's and Estrid's faces at the sight of the bird.

Wait until they hear it speak.

"Lik-Rifa has reached the Jarnvidr," the raven squawked.